Imani drove.
Mira sat in the back seat with her hands folded in her lap like she wasn’t about to walk into a controlled burn. She wore a cream blouse with a sharp collar and black trousers that fit her like intent. No dress. No softness. If Mrs. Reyes wanted “girlfriend,” Mira would give her “equal.”
Theo had tried one last time that morning.
“Say the word and we cancel,” he’d said, eyes dark, jaw tight.
Mira had stood on the rug in his bedroom, fastening her watch with deliberate calm. “If we cancel, she wins. And she’ll keep using Ethan, or someone like him.”
Theo’s gaze had pinned her. “Imani stays within arm’s reach.”
“Fine,” Mira had agreed. Then, quieter: “But you don’t call every five minutes like I’m a hostage.”
Theo’s mouth had twitched without humor. “You are. It’s just that your captor is wearing pearls.”
Now, as the car slid up to the curb outside Reyes Systems’ downtown tower, Mira’s stomach tightened.
Mrs. Reyes didn’t work from a “suite.”
She worked from a floor.
A private elevator took them up past the main reception. Past the corporate hum. Past the world where people said “Mr. Reyes” with reverence. Here, the hall carpeting was thicker, the light warmer, the air conditioned to a perfect, almost suffocating neutrality.
An assistant met them—polished smile, tablet in hand.
“Ms. Chen. Welcome. Mrs. Reyes will see you now.”
Imani stepped forward. “I’ll accompany Ms. Chen.”
The assistant’s smile tightened. “Mrs. Reyes requested—”
Imani’s gaze didn’t flicker. “Security protocol. Non-negotiable.”
A beat.
“Of course,” the assistant said, voice smooth as silk over steel. “Right this way.”
Mrs. Reyes’s office was a study in controlled power: a wide desk with no clutter, art that looked expensive without trying, a wall of windows framing the city like a possession. A tea service waited on a low table—porcelain thin enough to suggest fragility, arranged with the precision of a ceremony.
Mrs. Reyes rose when Mira entered.
“Imani,” she said, and somehow made the name sound like a minor inconvenience.
“Mrs. Reyes,” Imani replied evenly.
Then Mrs. Reyes’s gaze moved to Mira, and the room cooled.
“Mira,” she said, as if tasting the syllables. “You came.”
Mira stepped forward, shoulders back. “I said I would.”
Mrs. Reyes’s mouth curved. “Bold.”
“Direct,” Mira corrected.
Mrs. Reyes gestured toward a chair opposite hers. “Sit. Tea?”
“Yes,” Mira said, taking the seat without waiting for permission.
Imani took a position by the door—quiet, watchful, present without being decorative.
Mrs. Reyes poured tea herself. It wasn’t hospitality. It was performance: look what I can do with my hands while I measure you.
“You chose trousers,” Mrs. Reyes noted, setting a cup down.
Mira picked it up, met her gaze over the rim. “I’m working today.”
Mrs. Reyes gave a soft, amused exhale. “So am I.”
Mira let that sit. Then: “You wanted to meet me properly.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Reyes folded her hands. “Tell me about your family.”
Mira’s pulse flicked. “My parents live in San Jose. My mother’s a nurse. My father repairs medical equipment.”
“Hardworking,” Mrs. Reyes said, tone neutral.
“Practical,” Mira replied.
“And you,” Mrs. Reyes continued, “have always been… ambitious?”
Mira smiled faintly. “I’ve always been employed.”
Mrs. Reyes’s eyes sharpened. “You understand what I mean.”
“I understand what you’re trying to learn,” Mira said calmly. “If I’m here for Theo’s money.”
Mrs. Reyes’s brows lifted—approval or surprise, Mira couldn’t tell.
“Then answer,” Mrs. Reyes said.
Mira set her cup down. “I didn’t even know Theo in a meaningful way until the gala.”
“And you left with him,” Mrs. Reyes said, voice smooth. “That night.”
Mira held her gaze. “Yes.”
Mrs. Reyes’s smile was a blade. “And you signed an agreement.”
Mira’s stomach tightened. She kept her expression steady. “Theo discussed the possibility of an arrangement. Yes.”
“Did he compensate you?” Mrs. Reyes asked, casually cruel.
Mira didn’t flinch. “There are terms. Like any relationship in his world.”
Mrs. Reyes leaned back slightly. “So you admit it is transactional.”
Mira’s voice stayed even. “Most relationships are. Some people trade money. Some trade access. Some trade emotional labor until they’re empty. I’m not interested in pretending yours are purer just because they’re expensive.”
Imani’s posture didn’t change, but Mira felt the air shift.
Mrs. Reyes studied Mira for a long moment, then poured more tea. “You’re clever.”
“I’m honest,” Mira said.
“Honesty is often a weapon,” Mrs. Reyes replied. “Used by people without leverage.”
Mira’s smile was small. “And yet it’s working.”
Mrs. Reyes’s mouth curved. “Let’s discuss leverage.”
Mira waited.
“My son,” Mrs. Reyes said, “is not naive. He chose you for a reason. Tell me what it is.”
Mira’s fingers tightened around the cup. “Ask him.”
Mrs. Reyes’s gaze cooled. “I did. He gave me sentiment.”
Mira’s heart kicked at that—Theo offering sentiment to his mother as if it were armor. Dangerous, in a way Mira hadn’t admitted to herself.
Mrs. Reyes continued, “So I’m asking you.”
Mira set her cup down with deliberate care. “He chose me because I don’t want him as a trophy.”
Mrs. Reyes’s eyes flicked. “And do you want him?”
Mira’s pulse tripped.
She could lie. She could play safe.
But Mrs. Reyes was built for lies. She lived in them.
Mira breathed in slowly. “Yes.”
Silence, sharp as glass.
Mrs. Reyes’s gaze narrowed. “For what? His body? His bank account? His name?”
Mira met her eyes. “For his attention. For his steadiness. For the way he doesn’t punish me for having needs.”
Mrs. Reyes’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You speak as if you already belong.”
Mira’s chest tightened. “I’m not here to belong to anyone.”
Mrs. Reyes leaned forward, and for the first time her voice lost a fraction of polish.
“Then understand this,” she said softly. “My son’s life is an ecosystem. Any new element destabilizes it. If you destabilize it too much, you will be removed.”
Imani’s gaze sharpened.
Mira’s pulse rose, but she kept her voice calm. “Is that a threat?”
Mrs. Reyes smiled. “It’s a forecast.”
Mira nodded once. “Then here’s mine: if you keep trying to destabilize me—through Ethan, through gossip, through boardroom games—you’re going to push Theo into making choices you won’t like.”
Mrs. Reyes watched her. “You think you influence him?”
Mira’s answer came from a place she didn’t fully understand yet. “I think he doesn’t like losing control. And you’ve had your hands on the wheel for a long time.”
Mrs. Reyes’s eyes held Mira’s, unblinking.
Then, lightly: “Ethan.”
Mira’s stomach tightened. “What about him?”
Mrs. Reyes sipped her tea. “You were with him for three years.”
Mira didn’t correct the number. She didn’t offer more details. “Yes.”
“And you left,” Mrs. Reyes said, voice smooth. “Spectacularly.”
Mira’s jaw tightened. “He cheated. In public.”
Mrs. Reyes’s gaze flicked. “Men do that.”
Mira stared at her. “Not the ones worth keeping.”
A pause.
Mrs. Reyes set her cup down and looked almost—almost—interested.
“You have standards,” she said.
“I have self-respect,” Mira replied.
Mrs. Reyes’s voice cooled again. “Self-respect is expensive. It requires consequences.”
Mira leaned forward slightly. “Theo is the consequence.”
Mrs. Reyes’s smile sharpened. “Be careful, Mira. You’re starting to sound like you’re enjoying this.”
Mira didn’t deny it. “I’m enjoying not being the one embarrassed.”
Mrs. Reyes held Mira’s gaze. “My son will not marry you.”
The words landed like a slap dressed as fact.
Mira’s throat tightened, but she forced a calm breath. “We’re not discussing marriage.”
Mrs. Reyes’s expression didn’t change. “Not out loud.”
Mira’s fingers curled on her knee. She could feel the contract like a countdown in her blood.
Mrs. Reyes continued, “I will tolerate this arrangement—” a slight emphasis “—for as long as it serves Theodore. If it distracts him from the company, from alliances, from stability, I will end it.”
Mira’s voice was steady. “If you try to end it, you’ll prove his point.”
Mrs. Reyes’s brows lifted. “His point?”
Mira stood, controlled. “That you believe you own him.”
Mrs. Reyes rose as well, gaze hard. “I built the world he lives in.”
Mira met her eyes. “Then you should trust that he can choose who gets to live in it with him.”
For a moment, the room felt like it might crack.
Then Mrs. Reyes smiled—small, cold, dangerous.
“We’ll see,” she said.
Mira nodded once, turned, and walked to the door without waiting to be dismissed.
Imani opened it.
As they stepped into the hallway, Mira’s phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
This time it wasn’t a photo.
It was a PDF.
**Vantage_Collective_Incident_Report.pdf**
Mira’s stomach dropped as she opened it.
A forged “internal report” describing her as intoxicated, volatile, “sexually inappropriate,” and a reputational risk. Attached were screenshots—cropped, out of context—of comments from gossip accounts, plus the coatroom photo again, framed as evidence of “impulsive behavior.”
At the bottom: **Forwarded to: Vantage Board Distribution List (Pending)**
A second message appeared:
*I can ruin you in one click. Call me.*
Mira went cold.
Imani saw her face. “Mira?”
Mira forced her voice to work. “Ethan.”
Imani’s eyes narrowed. “Send it to me and Mr. Reyes. Now. Don’t respond.”
Mira’s fingers shook as she forwarded it.
Her next breath felt like it scraped her lungs.
Because Ethan wasn’t just trying to embarrass her anymore.
He was trying to erase her.
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